Blood Brothers
by Vintage Tea Party
Summary: When John suspects he has a serious illness he realizes the depth of his feelings for Sherlock but hides his illness from him. When he finally shares his situation with Sherlock will Sherlock realize what John means to him too? No slash, just brotherly love as the title suggests
1. Chapter 1

John closed his eyes as he got violently sick over the toilet. He was trying not to see all the blood but even with his eyes closed he knew it was there. It had been for weeks now. When he was sure that he was done getting sick he backed away from the toilet and sat down on the floor against the wall.

He put his head in his hands and fought the impulse to cry. Weeks of fear were weighing down on him and he felt that he was becoming too weak to fight it off. No one knew the fear he was carrying around. But he fought off the tears. He was sure that Sherlock would know in an instant something was wrong.

When the symptoms had started he hadn't thought much about it. He'd lost his appetite. His stomach started to hurt. He thought he was getting a bug and he had told Sherlock as much when he asked. Sherlock had naturally noticed that John had altered his eating habits and had commented on it. But when the weeks went on and he hadn't felt better but instead felt much worse, the fear and dread set in. He began to wonder if this was what he had always feared.

Soon, the nausea was so bad he couldn't keep anything down. Even with his empty stomach the indigestion and heartburn were so bad medicine did nothing to chase it away. He started throwing up on a daily basis. He was a doctor and he knew the signs. He knew something was very wrong with him and he suspected he knew exactly what it was. But he was terrified to find out. It was always something he feared he would have to go through but that he'd always hoped he wouldn't have to. But when he started passing blood and throwing it up he knew he couldn't ignore (or rather run away from) what was happening to him.

John had spent weeks hiding this fear from Sherlock. When the symptoms had progressively gotten worse he'd kept them to his self and Sherlock never had asked after the one time. He had went on with life as normal, still going with Sherlock on cases, he'd even been able to sneak off to the doctor without Sherlock knowing. But as the weeks of worrying wore down his resolve and the physical symptoms worse down his body it was becoming more and more difficult to hide what was going on.

He'd been to the doctor who had said it could be nothing. John had noticed that the doctor hadn't said it was "probably" nothing. He had said it "could" be nothing. He knew what that meant; it was more likely that there was a problem than that there wasn't. The doctor had ordered the test and John had waited in agony the three weeks before his scheduled appointment. That day was still two days away. He battled between wanting that day to come so he could know the truth and being terrified of that day because once he got a diagnosis there would be no going back.

John was so tired of worrying. He didn't want to be sick. He didn't want to die. Thinking about it all he finally decided that he would give into the tears. He hadn't cried about it. He had tried to not even to think about it, to focus on other things. But Sherlock was in the kitchen with his eyes glued to the microscope and had been there for hours. If John was lucky, Sherlock wouldn't notice him for the rest of the evening. John grabbed a towel off the rack and buried his face into it to muffle the cries. He didn't cry often and he sobbed even less frequently but he had no outlet for his stress and this would just have to do.

Its not that John hadn't wanted to tell Sherlock what was going on. He did the first moment he started to suspect what was wrong but he didn't. Sherlock was his closest friend. But why should Sherlock have to worry? There was nothing he could do to help and why should he have to worry as much as John was when there might not even be a cause? Besides, he knew he was really looking for comfort of some type and he was sure that he wasn't going to find it in Sherlock. In fact, if he was perfectly honest with himself he didn't tell Sherlock because he thought Sherlock would worry; he wasn't telling Sherlock because he thought Sherlock wouldn't worry.

He was sure that Sherlock would say all this worry was irrational, since John didn't actually have a diagnosis. Sherlock didn't make conclusions without all of the facts and John didn't have all the facts yet, just enough to scare him. John wasn't sure he could stand opening up to Sherlock and being so vulnerable only to have Sherlock make him feel stupid.

And even worse than that was thinking that Sherlock might not even care. Sometimes he really wondered about Sherlock. What if John _was_ dying and that didn't bother Sherlock at all? John was pretty sure that would just finish him off. John didn't really know where he stood with Sherlock most of the time. John knew what Sherlock meant to him, how important he was to him, how glad he was to have him in his life. But they never talked about it and Sherlock certainly didn't wear his feelings on his sleeve. John knew that Sherlock had become the best friend he had ever had. He hoped the same was true for Sherlock but he couldn't be at all sure.

Sherlock always had it together, was always so calm and put together. John tried to be the same. But John was haunted. He was haunted by memories of the past and a fear that the same had come for him.

John wiped his eyes and face when he was sure that he had no more tears left to cry and hung the towel back on the rack. He stood up and flushed the toilet and watched as the red disappeared, making sure that no traces of it was left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

_Blood everywhere. It covered his hands, his arms, his shirt. It was everywhere. John was covered in it. In the distance he saw a grave surrounded by mourners. It didn't take long to realize he'd seen this funeral before. He knew who they were burying there and he didn't want to see that but something told him he had to. He walked slowly toward the grave but no one seemed to notice him. Away from the crowd, John saw a man and knew it was Sherlock. No, that wasn't right, he shouldn't be there. That's when John noticed that the crowd had disappeared and the name on the stone was not the one that he had expected; it was his own._

John bolted up out of his bed. He was sure that he had been screaming before he awoke and wondered if Sherlock had heard him. Part of him wanted to; the room felt so dark and lonely and he didn't want to be alone. He felt sick again and made his way for the bathroom.

When he was finished in the bathroom he opened the door and was startled to see Sherlock in the doorway. The flat was quiet and it was so late that John was sure that Sherlock had been asleep and he hadn't been as quiet as he would have been had he known he was still awake. But there he was looking calm and unaffected yet looking directly into John's eyes. Sometimes he was sure Sherlock could see clear into his soul.

"Oh…hi Sherlock," John said trying to get around Sherlock but Sherlock didn't budge.

"Is everything alright John?"

John almost told him. Right then and there he wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to tell him that everything wasn't alright. He wanted to tell him how afraid he was. He wanted to beg him to help him carry this load that felt too heavy to carry. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? I heard you scream."

It was hard to lie to Sherlock. He never believed it when John did. He was just so _perceptive_ he saw everything. Even at his most convincing, John had never been able to deceive Sherlock about anything. And right now he wasn't at his most convincing. He still felt weak and shaky from the nightmare and bought of sickness. So, he decided to go with a very vague version of the truth.

"I had a nightmare. No big deal."

Sherlock didn't seem all that convinced that that was all there was to the story but he didn't press John for anymore information and backed away so John could pass.

John walked back to his room and got back in bed, curling up with his arms around his stomach. He felt weak and tired and he hoped that he could go back to sleep. He knew it was just a nightmare but he could still feel the blood on his hands and sense of doom hanging over him. He used to have nightmares all the time after the war but they had ended soon after he moved in with Sherlock. It had been a long time since he had had one and he wasn't use to them anymore.

He pulled the covers up and tried to clam down enough to go to sleep but all he could think about was his father whose death now haunted him. He'd always wanted to be like his dad. His dad was a solider and had always been strong and brave. John was only a teenager when his dad had gotten cancer in his stomach. One day it seemed as if he were fine and the next he was sick. By the time the symptoms had shown up it was too late. He had thought his symptoms were mild enough but when he had gone to the doctor they had told him it was cancer and it had spread. They'd done treatment but it was a losing battle from the beginning. John saw the strength quickly sucked right out of his dad in no time. He saw fear in his eyes. It hadn't taken long for the disease to claim him.

He believed that what had happened to his dad influenced his decision to go into medicine and he knew it had a direct impact on his decision to join the military. He'd always admired his dad. But now he feared that the same disease that claimed his dad was now coming for him. He already had the symptoms, the same symptoms and if they were obvious it probably meant that it was too late.

John thought about Sherlock. Why hadn't Sherlock pressed him for more information? Its what he would do if the tables were reversed. He didn't believe for a second that he had fooled Sherlock into thinking nothing was wrong. He wasn't sure what he expected from Sherlock. What did he really want from Sherlock even if Sherlock knew? He wasn't sure but he knew that he didn't want to be alone and he didn't want to lie to him. And even more, he knew that he didn't want to leave him forever.

* * *

John was hiding something. Sherlock was certain of it. He stared at him across the crime scene where he was kneeling near a recent victim making his own deductions. Most people wouldn't notice the subtle signs but Sherlock did. John was not as steady as he normally was, he moved a little slower, and a flash of pain would cross his face from time to time.

For weeks now something had not been right with John and Sherlock had observed the physical and emotional signs. But for some reason, he had not shared the information with Sherlock.

At first the signs were subtle. He had noticed that John missed a meal here and there. He had asked John about it and John had just commented that he thought he was getting a stomach bug. John had not seemed worried about it and so Sherlock thought it was nothing.

But that was not the case anymore. John's health was obviously declining. Instead of missing an occasion meal here and there, he was missing most of his meals. Sherlock could tell that in the past few weeks he had probably lost about 15 pounds. Sherlock also knew that John was vomiting on a more and more frequent basis, like last night when he'd found him in the bathroom. He'd also found small flecks of blood, John's blood, on the floor in the bathroom. John looked tired and worn most of the time.

But there weren't just the physical symptoms. John was worried. He'd become quieter and quieter as the weeks went on. He was keeping more to himself. It wasn't at all like him. He laughed and smiled less and seemed to have a constant crease of worry on his forehead. He was more contemplative and deep in thought more often and it seemed that the thoughts filling his head were troubling ones. John wasn't obvious about it and he might not even be aware of how noticeable his changed behavior was.

The strangest thing about it all was that he didn't tell Sherlock anything. It was not like John to keep to himself so much and not share things with Sherlock. It seemed he always wanted to talk about something whether it was something Sherlock wanted to hear or not. And he always talked about the things that were troubling him. Why was this time different?

Sherlock had told himself that there was nothing to be concerned about. John was a doctor. He would know right away what it was that was bothering him. He would take care of it. If he hadn't brought it up, then Sherlock was sure that it wasn't that serious.

John was just getting up from crouching next to the victim when he put a hand to face, closing his eyes. He was dizzy. Sherlock rushed over to him. "Are you alright?"

John shook it off. "I'm fine," he said but he was pale and looked sick.

"John…"

"I said I'm fine," he said brushing Sherlock off and rushing off leaving Sherlock alone.

* * *

John hated hospitals. Being a doctor had not given him any more appreciation for them as a patient. If anything, being a doctor made being a patient even worse. He knew everything that was happening. He knew everything they weren't saying. He knew all the worse case scenarios. As a doctor, it was like he didn't even notice the things that he bothered him now. The overly bright lights. The cold and sterile setting. The detached feelings he got from the staff who were prepping him his endoscopy. But he saw them all now quite clearly.

He laid in the bed just waiting for the doctor to come and in and it was terrible quiet. He had left the flat telling Sherlock he had some things to do. Sherlock had not asked him for details. He wished he had. John didn't want to be here alone and he knew it wouldn't be quiet at all if Sherlock were here.

Since the fear of this disease first presented itself, John had thought a lot about Sherlock. Something had been nagging at him that he couldn't quite identify. He'd wanted something from Sherlock but he had never quite identified it.

John had known from the moment that he met Sherlock that Sherlock was different than anyone he had ever met. John was sure that anyone who ever met Sherlock could say that about him. But Sherlock was something different to John. Within 24 hours of meeting Sherlock he had moved in with him, began chasing criminals with him, and had even killed a man to protect him. Granted, Sherlock was clever and fascinating, but why had John pledged himself so completely so soon to this man?

It wasn't normal in general and it defiantly wasn't normal for John. John had always had a hard time trusting people. It wasn't that he wanted to but he always just seemed to have a hard time getting close to others. He had a few friends here and there in his past but not like others had. He realized that he expected a lot from others and they usually didn't measure up. They always seemed to let him down in some way. He made an effort with people but he usually never felt truly comfortable with them. He didn't give his trust lightly to someone.

But he had pledged himself to Sherlock instantly. He realized now that he had; not in spoken words but in his heart. On that first day, with that first case, he had promised to follow Sherlock anywhere, to protect him at all costs. He'd given Sherlock his loyalty, his trust, and his friendship. Because his heart knew something that his mind didn't quite understand.

His heart knew that it had found its match. His heart had found its home, its other half. Not in a romantic way as some (to his complete embarrassment) thought; but in a familial way. Sherlock complemented him in every way. He gave John's heart life, and happiness and motivation when there had been none there. He gave his life excitement and pushed him to be more every day. Sherlock was more than just his friend; he was his family. John had never experienced this connection with anyone else so he really couldn't blame people for getting it wrong; it made little sense to him as well.

This whole experience now made his mind realize what his heart had known all along; that Sherlock had become like a brother to him. All along he'd hidden his illness from Sherlock because of this. He really didn't want Sherlock to worry; he wanted to protect him. But he also was worried that the depth of Sherlock's feelings didn't run as deep for him. He wanted Sherlock to care, to worry whether he lived or died. He wanted Sherlock to give him strength, to make him not as afraid. He wanted Sherlock to be at his side just as he had stood by Sherlock's from day one. He didn't just want these things; he desperately needed them now. And he just couldn't stand the thought that he might not find them. He wasn't strong enough to handle that and that was why he hadn't risked hoping for them.

But as the medicine started to slow his mind and make his eye lids sink he thought of Sherlock and tried to gain strength from him, even thought he wasn't there.

* * *

John had taken a taxi home and by the time he got there the drowsy feeling left over from the medicine had worn off as well as his shock at what the doctors had told him when he woke up. Well, that hadn't worn off completely but he was at least composed enough that he could face going back home.

When he got back up to the flat Sherlock was sitting in his chair reading a book. He took notice of John. John was afraid for a moment that Sherlock could read it all there on his face. What Sherlock said instead took John by surprise.

"Did you get the milk?"

It took John a moment to be sure he heard Sherlock right. "What?"

"The milk. I asked you to pick some up before you left."

Given everything that was going on in his head right now, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "No, you didn't."

"I'm certain I did. You just weren't listening."

"What?" John almost lost it then. _He_ was the one not listening? _He_ was the one not paying attention? This was too much. "You know, Sherlock I do have other things on my mind once in a while than just doing all your chores."

John went to his room and shut the door. He sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. The news wasn't good. They'd found a large tumor on his stomach and they didn't know if it was benign or not. It had been too large to remove during the endoscopy so they had scheduled John for surgery in two days. It wasn't good news he knew and he knew that the doctor who had given him the news thought the same.

Soon, he would get answers whether he wanted them or not. He'd have to know if he was sick or not. He would have to have to tell Sherlock and he would have to know what Sherlock would say. He didn't look forward to either.

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	3. Chapter 3

John sat in his chair staring at a book he wasn't reading. Sherlock was in the kitchen busying himself with a large stack of papers. John knew that he had to talk to Sherlock but he hated to do it now. Sherlock hated to be bothered when he was working. Sometimes John couldn't even get Sherlock to pay attention to him when he was working but even when he did John usually wished he hadn't tried. But his surgery was tomorrow and he had run out of time. He couldn't put it off any longer.

Dread filled his stomach; once he spoke the words they would become real. He knew that reality was what is was whether he voiced it out loud or not but once he said it out loud he would no longer be able to deny the truths he was living with.

He stood hesitantly and walked over to the table where Sherlock was pouring over files of cold cases. Sherlock didn't even glance up. John nervously shifted from foot to foot in nervousness. "Sherlock"

He didn't look up. "Sherlock" a little louder this time. Still nothing.

"Sherlock!"

"Not now. Busy," Sherlock finally responded calmly and without looking up. But John wasn't calm; he was mad. Sherlock was so perceptive about everything and yet he could ignore it when John was directly talking to him. "Sherlock I need your attention NOW."

Sherlock looked up. His face was a little annoyed now but still surprised that John spoke to him in such a forceful tone. John didn't speak that way to Sherlock.

"Well, John you have it. What is so important that you insist on interrupting me like a child?"

Anger bubbled up in John's chest. Heaven forbid that Sherlock be bothered for one second from his all important work. It didn't matter what John was struggling with. Sherlock couldn't notice that and he was now extremely bothered to be made to notice. John knew that he had been right not to tell Sherlock; John wasn't going to get what he needed from Sherlock. He wanted him to _care_, to just be there with him. He didn't need him to say anything specific or do anything specific; he just needed to know that Sherlock was by his side.

"Well, Sherlock" he felt like spitting the name out, "I'm going to the hospital for surgery in the morning. I just thought you ought to know."

When John started to walk away Sherlock stopped him "Excuse me. Are you planning on giving me some details or are you going to vaguely leave it at that?"

John turned around and tried to calmly explain himself. But it was hard. He'd wanted to tell Sherlock for weeks but he needed to keep it short and to the point. "I am having a tumor removed from my stomach. I went for an endoscopy a couple of days ago but it was so large that they couldn't remove it then. You should know that there is a great probability that it could be…cancer," try as hard as he could, his voice wavered on the last word. Saying it out loud was even word than he had imagined.

John stared at Sherlock and tried to read the expression on his face but he couldn't. Before Sherlock could speak John kept going. "I don't know that's what it is so there is no need to be worried. And I want you to know that I don't expect anything. I can go to the hospital on my own. You don't have to go. I don't…expect you to go. I'll be fine. I just thought you should know since I'll be gone for a few days."

Suddenly all the anger was gone and was replaced with a deep sadness. Sherlock still hadn't said anything and John wasn't sure he had the strength to hear it when he did. "Good night."

John left and Sherlock was left there to watch him go.

* * *

Sherlock woke up some time later hunched over the kitchen table. He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep but he figured that it had been a decent amount of time by how sore his muscles were. The fire in the fire place was almost out and when he looked around John was no where to be seen.

Sherlock stood up and stretched. He'd been speechless when John had finally told him what was wrong with him. He'd known for weeks that something was wrong with John and he just hadn't said anything. He knew that John was sick and had been to the doctor a few times. But John was a medical man himself; he had assumed that if there was anything really wrong that John would have discussed it with him. He had never dreamed that it was serious. John always felt the need to talk so much, about feelings, about everything. And yet it seemed that something had been going on John had not talked about it at all. Why?

After John had left and went to bed Sherlock had gotten on the computer and did some research. He didn't know much about the disease that John could possibly have.

What Sherlock had found out was not comforting. It appeared that if John was presenting symptoms then the disease was already advanced. He shouldn't be concerned since John did not have a diagnosis yet but he was concerned for some reason.

He walked to John's room and found the door slightly cracked. John was so upset that Sherlock wanted to check on him and make sure that he was alright. John hadn't said so in as many words but Sherlock could tell. He pushed the door open and saw John's form on the bed in the darkened room. He started to leave but something made him stop and walk in the room to the side of John's bed.

John's forehead was creased with wrinkles and Sherlock could tell that even in his sleep he was worrying. For weeks John had been worrying and for what? It was all for something that _might_ happen. Right? Why had he allowed himself to become so preoccupied without knowing the facts? And why…hadn't he told Sherlock?

Sherlock was surprised that this bothered him but it did. Why had John felt the need to hide his illness from Sherlock? It didn't make any sense to Sherlock. John had been trying to put up a brave face when it was obvious that something had been bothering him all along. He'd even lied to Sherlock when he'd directly asked him about his declining health.

John didn't have a brave face on now. In sleep his face showed worry and fear. It showed everything that he had not shown while he was awake. And Sherlock could see that he was terrified.

Sherlock was suddenly filled with a strange sense of wanting to protect John. That was strange. Where had _that_ come from? All of a sudden, he felt the need to protect John from all the things that troubled him. He wanted to make the sickness go away. He wanted to make John stop worrying, to make him no longer afraid. He felt he would do anything to make things right for him again.

When there was a stirring in his heart and his mind understood what it was, Sherlock was taken aback.

When had _this _happened? The lines of friendship and love were so unfamiliar to Sherlock that he had not known when he had crossed them. But looking down at this sleeping man who looked so fragile and who could very possibly be taken away from him, Sherlock knew. He knew that somewhere along the way this man had become his best friend but also more than that. John had become like a brother to him. Sherlock had always thought that expression was strange, seeing as how he only had Mycroft to compare it to. But now he understood that expression. He understood it because John wasn't just his friend or colleague or flatmate. He was family.

This was always the sentiment that he had fought. This love was powerful and it had always seemed to be a disadvantage because people let it rule them and overrule their better judgment. But now that he felt it himself, he found, to his great surprise, that he didn't want to fight it. It went against everything that he had taught himself. But looking back over the time that he had spent with John he knew one thing for sure; that time had been nothing but an advantage.

He had come to believe that he didn't need others. At one time he was sure that he had wanted friends, companions of some kind. But he never got along with others and they never got along with him. He always had to try so hard to just get along with others, forget actually making friends with them. Eventually, he had given up trying and learned to live without them. But John had been different from the beginning. Sherlock couldn't really explain it logically and that bothered him, but something about John had felt different from the beginning. He hadn't had to try to get along with John at all and he found that he did more than just get along with John. He wanted to be around John.

How had this happened? How had he allowed himself to become _dependant_ on John? He'd never realized that he was until this moment; this moment when he thought of a future without John. A future without John by his side at crime scenes. A future without John to talk about anything with. _This is ridiculous, _Sherlock thought to himself. _I lived many years without John in my life and I was fine. _But Sherlock knew things were different now. Yes, he had been fine without John. He had gotten through life just fine. That's what his logical mind would say. But if he was honest with himself, his life was a lot better with John in it. He knew that it was a lot less lonely. He knew that he was a better person around John. He was completed around John. Sherlock hated to admit that he lacked in any area but he did and John made up for it. And he would be devastated without John here.

At that moment John stirred and Sherlock held his breath. He waited to see if John was going to awake but he didn't. Sherlock felt foolish. What was he doing here thinking about all of this in John's dark bedroom while he slept? How would he have explained _that_? He didn't know how he would have explained it because it didn't make any sense to him. He didn't know what to make of this new information.

"Please God, let me live." Sherlock was startled when John spoke and at first thought he had awoken. Those words were the same ones that John had once told Sherlock that he would utter, had uttered, when he thought he was dying. Is that what John thought? Did he think he was dying? Sherlock was gripped by sadness and fear. If John, being a doctor, thought he might die from this, then maybe there really was something to be concerned about. Sherlock was trying not to jump to conclusions as so many people did without all of the facts, but he was having a hard time. And he was sad; sad that this was really the way John felt and he hadn't said anything about it.

He turned to leave but took one glance at John. He wanted to do something for him he knew there wasn't anything he could do. So he settled for taking the blanket and pulling it up closer to John.

**Thank you for all the follows and reviews. I look forward to all your comments. You all are lovely ****:)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Beware: Some good friendship feels a head ****:)**

John glanced over at Sherlock. He was sitting in the chair beside John in the hospital waiting room just staring off into the distance. John was trying to pay attention to the papers he was filling out but he was distracted by his thoughts.

John had dreaded this morning. He had not known what Sherlock would do and he was worried that he would end up at the hospital all alone. He'd actually been convinced that would happen. But he was surprised when he found that Sherlock was already up and ready to go when John had gotten up.

He was relieved, very relieved, that he wasn't here alone but still he didn't know what to make of Sherlock's behavior. He'd come along with John but he had not said anything at all since they had left the flat. John tried to read what Sherlock was thinking or feeling but that was pretty useless as always. He thought maybe the hospital setting made Sherlock uncomfortable but he wasn't sure that was it.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

It was like Sherlock hadn't heard him. He didn't say anything, didn't move or even flinch. "Sherlock?"

Still he did not answer. John had to say it a few more times before Sherlock finally turned around. "What?"

"I asked if you were alright."

"Of course I'm alright."

Of course he was alright. Sherlock acted weird like this. But this was a different kind of weird even for Sherlock. But John was really too nervous to try and figure out what was going on in his head right now. He was just glad that Sherlock was here. He decided he was going to keep his mouth shut and just be glad that Sherlock was here at all. He didn't know what had brought him here but he didn't want to say anything that might drive him away.

"John Watson," said a nurse appearing at the front of the waiting room.

"That's me."

"Just follow me and we'll get you settled into a room."

John got up and headed towards the nurse. Sherlock just sat where he was, still staring off into the distance. "Sherlock, are you coming?

Sherlock's gaze snapped instantly to John. "Of course." He leapt up and bolted down the hall ahead of John.

John shook his head before following Sherlock down the hall. "I will never figure that man out," he whispered to himself.

* * *

Silence. It was so loud that Sherlock could barely stand it. He looked down at the floor but kept stealing glances up at John. He felt as though he should fill the silence somehow but he was inexplicably at a loss for words. He was never at a loss for words. He always had something to say and it was always clever at that. He should be able to say something, to take away this unbearable silence, to comfort his clearly nervous friend and himself for that matter. But he was at a loss for words.

These emotions were strange things. They did strange things to your mind and body. Ever since the night before and his discovery of them he had not felt like himself at all. He was nervous. His body felt jittery, as if the core of him was shaking, or he needed to run around. His stomach was doing some strange thing. It felt like he was sick; it was rolling and cramping, but he knew he wasn't sick. And most alarmingly of all, he was scared.

He couldn't believe it and certainly wouldn't admit it, but he was terrified. He was terrified that these were the last moments he might have with his friend. He was terrified that he might have to go on without his companion, this man he'd come to love. Love, what a strange and kind of annoying thing it was. Because of it he was here, feeling sick, physically sick, because of his emotions and his mind was running wild with assumptions based on it. He'd always prided himself on making conclusions based on facts only. Now he was thinking of things that hadn't happened and may never happen. John might not have cancer. He might come out of the surgery and be just fine. This worrying was really a useless thing.

He'd always assumed that these emotions gave a person a better ability to be able to comfort others. Hadn't people always talked of comforting those they loved, being able to reassure them in their times of need? Hadn't they said that love motivated them, made them able to do things they had never done, to help others in their times of need? But Sherlock felt as if his newly discovered affection for John was crippling him rather than motivating him.

He should be able to say something to his friend. He looked at John. He sat there in the hospital bed prepped for surgery. He was already hooked up to more machines than Sherlock wanted to count and had wires and tubes running to and from. They'd come so long ago and told him and John that they would be coming for John "any moment." He hated doctors and hospitals. So inconsiderate and liars the whole lot of them. That "any moment" had been ages ago, a full hour and 12 minuets to be exact, and here they still sat in the silence. And with every passing moment he noticed John become more and more nervous and he became more and more hateful of this place and the people who worked in it.

He knew that John was trying to be brave. He hadn't been overly emotional, he hadn't spent the time crying or talking about his feelings. Sherlock knew John was doing that for him and he felt guilty. He should be here for John, making him feel better not the other way around. But he could see through John's façade. His breathing was calm but shaky, every now and then. He noticed that he fidgeted with the blanket but kept making himself stop when he realized he was doing it. Not to mention what his heart rate was elevated as clearly displayed on one of the many monitors. His friend was scared and Sherlock had no idea what he should do. Why couldn't he think of anything to say?

Sherlock shivered. Why did they always keep these dreadful places so cold? He was shivering and he still had his coat on. He thought then that John must be freezing. He was only covered in a hospital gown and cap and a very thin looking blanket. Immediately Sherlock got up and took his coat off and walked over to the bed and put it over John. John looked up at Sherlock started, clearly he had been deep in thought and Sherlock had given him a start. Sherlock wondered if this was "not good" and thought about taking it back. But John pulled it closer to himself and burrowed into it.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. John looked at Sherlock and Sherlock said nothing. How did normal people live like this? With nothing filling their heads? How did they stand the constant emptiness? John looked a little uncomfortable with Sherlock's intent stare. "What is it? I look pretty ridiculous don't I?"

That was John. Trying to make light of the situation, trying to make a joke, even when he was upset. Sherlock didn't find anything funny at the moment but it at least gave him something to say. "Yes, but I wouldn't worry about it. Everybody does here. Is that part the act, to make this place more horrible?"

John laughed a little. "You really hate it here don't you? I told you that you didn't have to come. I know hospitals make you uncomfortable."

Sherlock was startled by this statement. "_Of course_ I had to come. Why would you say that?"

The look on John's face said that he wasn't expecting that response and so strongly from Sherlock. "Its just that it doesn't make a lot of sense, to you. It's a place filled with lots of sick people and their overly emotional family and friends. Lots of people crying and getting upset. Nothing to do but sit around and wait. Everything's out of your control. I just thought you would take the first opportunity you could to _not_ be here." John looked down but not before Sherlock saw the incredibly sad look on his face.

John really had thought that Sherlock would have avoided being here to support him just because it would have made Sherlock uncomfortable? It all came together in Sherlock's head at that moment: that was why he had waited so long to tell Sherlock. He had been afraid that Sherlock wouldn't be there for him. How had his friend gotten such a mixed up version of how Sherlock felt about him? And what could he do to remedy this?

Without thinking, Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder. He could practically feel John crumble under his hand. John let out a very shaky breath and looked up at Sherlock. John's eyes were so full of tears that Sherlock wasn't sure how he could see out of them but he looked at Sherlock. "Sherlock…I'm scared."

What was this feeling that Sherlock was feeling now? Is this what people meant when they said that their 'heart was broken'? Everyone made a joke that Sherlock didn't have one but something was crumbling inside of his chest. Sherlock had never known that a person could feel so many different emotions. "John…"

At precisely that moment the nurses walked in. Typical. They keep your waiting all day but when you actually want them to stay away then they come. "We're here to take you to surgery John."

Sherlock noticed that John quickly brushed away the tears and but on his 'brave' face. "Alright," he said and then turning to Sherlock, took Sherlock's coat off of him and handed back to him, though not before he had briefly held it against his face. Why had he done that? "Here you go Sherlock. You better hold on to this."

Sherlock took it back from him. John looked at Sherlock, expectantly, waiting for him to say something. And Sherlock had been about to say something, hadn't he, but what? Whatever it was had left him. After a moment John realized Sherlock wasn't going to say anything, so he just smiled and said "I'll see you soon."

John was smiling but there was no happiness there. Sherlock could see he had disappointed John. He had seen that face many times, but never until now had he realized what it meant. John had opened up to Sherlock, had sought him out for comfort and Sherlock wasn't giving it to him.

"Mr. Holmes, you can wait in the waiting room down the hall and we'll come and get you when we're through."

Sherlock felt numb. When he didn't move, the nurse spoke again. "Don't worry; we'll take care of him."

Sherlock moved out of her way, but said nothing. They always said that. It meant nothing. They couldn't take care of John, that was supposed to be his job and he was failing. These emotions came with so many expectations!

The nurses began to get John ready and started to wheel him away. Sherlock's mind was racing. He had to do something, to say something. He couldn't let John leave thinking he didn't care at all.

They almost had John out the door when Sherlock finally found his voice and said "Stop." They looked at him questionably and so did John. Sherlock rushed to the side of the bed and looked at John. "What is it Sherlock?" Sherlock looked around. Why did there have to be so many _people?_ He'd only just discovered these feelings and he didn't want everyone to hear them but he'd run out of time and he had to say them.

He leaned down and put his mouth, close to John's ear. He was sure that this would embarrass John as so many little things did, but Sherlock could care less. He was not use to expressing himself and there was no one else he trusted to do that with than John.

"John. You're strong. You're going to be just fine. Don't…leave me. You're my friend. You're…my brother."

Sherlock couldn't believe what he was saying. Was that what he had planned on saying? It was so _sentimental_, so unlike him. Yet, he knew it was exactly what he meant, exactly how he felt. But what would John say?

Sherlock started to pull back but John reached out and pulled Sherlock's head down to his shoulder. John's grip was firm and felt desperate. John buried his hands in Sherlock's hair and Sherlock could feel him shaking. Sherlock didn't know how long they stayed like that and he didn't care.

When John let go Sherlock pulled back and looked at him. Sherlock didn't know what John was thinking. Sherlock had never liked emotions. They followed no rules and they made no sense. Nothing about them was certain and they left a person so _vulnerable. _ Sherlock knew nothing about them and now was no exception. John hadn't said anything but Sherlock thought that what he had said had made some impact on John. He certainly hoped that he was conveying his feelings better than he had in the past.

The nurses exchanged a glance and it was obvious to Sherlock what they were thinking but he didn't care and for once John didn't even seem to notice. He opened his mouth to say something but could never seem to finish it. "I…I…"

"Its O.K. Don't worry. I'll be here when you get out."

John smiled back at Sherlock and he managed to give one back to him. They wheeled John away and Sherlock watched until they turned a corner and he couldn't see them anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

More waiting. Sherlock was pretty sure that time had never passed more slowly for him than it did at this moment. Time always moved slowly when he was bored, without a case or something to stimulate his mind. But it was different this time and time was passing even more slowly. It was these emotions; it was their fault. Every time that he looked at the clock he was sure that more time had passed than the few minutes it showed. Even his deductions were suffering from these emotions; this was getting out of hand. He never allowed himself to feel emotions but this time he had and it was threatening to overwhelm him.

He would have gone into his mind palace and try to get control of his current situation but that wasn't something he could do right now with so many people around. He was glad that the waiting room only held a few people in the time that he was stuck there. There always seemed to be someone who felt like filling the silence. The majority of people were uncomfortable with silence and felt the need to fill it with any conversation, petty as it often was. And in environments like the hospital they usually were left to do that with strangers. They were also nervous which made their need to talk stronger. The last thing that Sherlock wanted right now was to have to talk with someone. He preferred being around people who did not need to fill every silence; the people who were comfortable with it and broke it only when they had something profitable to say. Like John.

John. How was he doing right now? It seemed like so much time had passed that surely they should be nearing the end of his surgery. But he really didn't know how long the surgery should last. And of course things always took much longer in the hospital than they told you. They always kept you waiting, waiting, always waiting.

Sherlock was sure he was just about to explode with pent up energy when he saw a nurse coming his way. Walking quickly, looking at the floor, breathing fast-nervous. She had not good news deliver and she was coming towards Sherlock. He stood up and walked over to her closing the distance even faster. "What is it?"

She looked surprised with his forthrightness but said nothing about it. She was still looking around, not wanting to say what she had to say. "Is he alright?" he demanded.

His tone of voice probably didn't sound nice and he probably hadn't given her ample time to speak but he didn't care; something was wrong with John and he needed to know what-now.

"John has had some complications."

"Meaning what?" Couldn't she just get to the point and stop wasting so much time?

"The removal of the tumor was more difficult than the doctors were anticipating and he's lost a lot of blood. The doctors are trying to get the bleeding under control but…"

"What?" Sherlock really had to keep from screaming at the girl. If John was here he would whisper to Sherlock to be nice. But he wasn't here and that was the problem.

"John has the rarest type of blood and we're running low on the supply of it. John told us you were the same type and we were wondering…"

"Yes, I will," he said jumping a head of the girl since she couldn't seem to finish this conversation in a timely fashion. Couldn't this stupid hospital do anything right? How did they run out of blood? He started walking out of the waiting room and the girl just stood there. "Blood, he needs mine so let's get on with it and stop wasting time," he said impatiently, motioning for at the girl to follow. She walked quickly, looking upset and led him where he needed to go.

* * *

John felt the pain before he opened his eyes. It felt as if there was fire poker logged in his stomach. He felt horrible! But he was alive.

A horrible wave of nausea rolled over his stomach and he was sure he was going to be sick. He sat up a little and grabbed his mouth. Somehow, he didn't get sick and when he opened his eyes he noticed that Sherlock was by his side holding one of those tubs they give you in the hospital just for vomiting. This surprised him. He didn't say anything just hovered silently by.

John felt warm and realized something comfortable lay on top of him. His head was pounding and he found that even just opening his eyes made the pain worse. Was the surgery supposed to have been this hard on him? He hadn't thought so but then again he'd spent more time on the other side of the operating table. But still this felt worse than he had expected.

He looked down and saw that Sherlock's coat was once again lying on top of him. He should have known; they never had anything this comfortable in the hospital. And there was Sherlock sitting in a chair right beside him. He started directly at him, deducing him no doubt. He noticed that John had taken notice of coat. "You were shivering. Since they can't seem to provide a decent blanket in this place I had to make due. Beside it seemed to make you…comfortable before."

"No, its good. Thank you." John noticed that Sherlock looked uncomfortable. He was acting so strange. Ever since last night something had seemed off with him. Maybe John had been wrong all along, but he was surprised at how wrong he had been. He'd been so worried that Sherlock wouldn't be there for him at all but Sherlock had obviously been upset by this experience.

He'd spent the entire morning in silence, which was rare for Sherlock. Normally you couldn't get him to shut up no matter how hard you tried. But he'd said nothing up until John left for surgery and then he'd said something very uncharacteristic for him. Sherlock had actually said that John was his friend. Had actually said that John was his brother. Sherlock had asked him not to leave him.

Tears sprang to his eyes despite himself. For weeks John had struggled with his fear, alone. He'd worried about his health and future and was too afraid all along to find out whether Sherlock would care to worry with him. But Sherlock did care. He'd cared for a while.

Sherlock looked at John and took his distress as having to do with physical factors. "John, are you feeling unwell?"

The look on Sherlock's face was so concerned that John figured he should set his mind at ease. He smiled "Yeah, but that's to be expected."

"If you're feeling too poorly I can try and track down one of these idle hospital workers to get you some pain medicine."

"I'm fine Sherlock. Really."

Silence hung between them and it seemed that there was a lot on Sherlock's mind. John figured it had something to do with what they had experienced before he went into surgery. "So, I've never had a brother before."

Sherlock looked uncomfortable, like he was embarrassed of what he had said before. But he smiled a little at John and said "I wished I didn't."

John laughed and realized that was a mistake. Pain shot through stomach. "Ow. Laughing was not a good thing with a newly operated on stomach."

John had meant it as a joke but Sherlock looked serious again. "Sherlock. Don't be embarrassed."

Sherlock looked back at him with a shocked expression. "_Embarrassed,"_ he practically spat the word out. "About what?"

"About what you said before. About…me being your brother."

"I…" Sherlock started and John could tell he was going to make an excuse.

"No, Sherlock, really. Its exactly what I needed to hear. It…meant a lot to me." Now John was the one looking away.

To John's surprise, Sherlock was the first to break the silence this time. "John, I know that I let you down a lot…"

"Sherlock you don't have to do this. Its fine."

"No, John. Listen to what I have to say. I regret that my past actions have led you to believe that I would not be sympathetic to your struggle. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I know that I let you down a lot. That I do a lot of things that are 'not good.' But I never realized that my social shortcomings would have led you to believe that I wouldn't be bothered by the fact that you might…"

John knew what Sherlock was going to say. That he might die. But he didn't say it and for that John was glad. After all, he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Anyway," Sherlock continued, skipping past that last statement. "I have never gotten along with people. I never understand them and they don't understand me. Truth be told, I have never really had friends so I never even understood myself what you had become to me, let alone how to show you. I still don't understand it. I don't claim to understand friendship or love. I still don't understand what you are to me. But I hope maybe you do. And I hope that my thoughts are clearer to you now.

To an outsider this conversation wouldn't seem too touching. It might even look cold. But John knew what it meant for Sherlock to say all of these things. John had known for a long time what Sherlock meant to him. He'd known for a long time that Sherlock was his friend, had become even something closer than a friend to him. But he had never known what Sherlock thought. He'd always been convinced that Sherlock's feelings for him did not run nearly deep as his feelings for Sherlock. But that wasn't true at all. Sherlock felt the same way he did.

Sherlock didn't understand sentiment. John was the heart and Sherlock was the brain. That was why they got a long so well. Some where a long the way they had come to complete each other. They had become two halves of a whole that was not complete without the other. John didn't understand half the things that went on inside Sherlock's head; but he was starting to. Sherlock didn't understand half of the things that happened in his heart; but he was starting to.

"They are," John managed to croak out. His throat had been dry before but now it felt like a desert. "And I am sorry. Sherlock, I am sorry I didn't give you a chance. I am sorry that I assumed the worst about you. That wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry that I lied. I know you care about me even though you don't say it. I know you don't express it like everyone else."

Silence hung between the two of them for a long time. Only the beeping of the machines interrupted it and that was easy to ignore. Fatigue hit John like a brick wall and he struggled to stay awake.

"Well, it appears we both made some mistakes but we've cleared them up?" Sherlock said breaking the silence. He said it like a question like he was checking one last time that everything was alright.

"Yeah. We're on the same page now." John said closing his eyes and laying his head back. "I'm so tired."

"Well, you have just been through surgery."

"Yes, but I didn't realize that it was this bad of one."

There was a long enough pause that it caused John to open his eyes and look at Sherlock. "What?"

"Well, it was more difficult than they had anticipated. There were some complications."

John felt his body turn to ice with fear. "What kind of complications?"

"They had some difficulties removing the growth. You lost a lot of blood."

John could tell that Sherlock was skirting around something but he wasn't sure what it was. "So, it was pretty bad…"

"They had to give you some blood. Only they didn't have enough of your type. It is the rarest type."

John knew that it must have ended well since he was obviously still alive but Sherlock was still keeping something to himself. "So…what did they do?"

"I happen to be a match. So I gave them some to give to you." Sherlock was acting as if he thought that this would bother John.

"Thank you."

"There was never any question what I was going to do."

John laughed a little to himself. "What is it?" Sherlock asked.

"I guess that makes us kind of like blood brothers."

"What's that?"

"You've never heard of blood brothers before? Not even when you were a kid?" not that it really surprised John.

"I'm sure I did but I must have deemed it unnecessary to keep. Why don't you fill me in?"

"A blood brother is someone that you consider your brother and that you vow to stand beside and you make it official by joining your blood in some way. Usually by cutting your hand or finger and touching your blood together. That seals the promise."

Sherlock grimaced. "And that's appealing?"

"Its supposed to be symbolic. Since you're not brothers by blood that makes you brothers by blood."

"Still doesn't make much sense to me."

"I'm not surprised. Besides its not really the same since my blood wasn't involved. Though I do have your blood in me now, which is truly terrifying."

Sherlock and John looked at each other and laughed.

**Aww, now our boys both know how the other feels :D But hold your breath...John gets his test results in the next chapter. What will happen? **


	6. Chapter 6

"Mr. Watson, we have your test results."

This was it. The moment he had waited and dreaded for weeks. John had been asleep most of the time since his surgery so he had thankfully not had a lot of time to worry. Sherlock had been by his side the entire time and hovered close by now.

John felt the entire weight of his fear weighing on him and he was so glad to have Sherlock here. He couldn't imagine what this moment would be like without Sherlock's silent strength beside him. It seemed silly, now that he knew everything that he did, that he had kept his illness a secret for so long. He really had made things a lot harder on himself than it needed to be. He wasn't sure how he had managed to survive it without Sherlock's bravery and with the added weight of thinking Sherlock didn't care. Even now, with the adrenaline and fear coursing though his body and making him feel weak, he longed to reach out and take Sherlock's hand for more strength but he kept himself from doing that; what a ridiculous idea that was.

"_Doctor _Watson," Sherlock said pointedly.

John snickered a little to himself. Leave it to Sherlock to pay attention to titles at a time like this. John could care less but it lightened his heart slightly anyway.

"_Dr._ Watson," the doctor said while giving Sherlock a bit of glare. "We did your biopsy."

"Well, we're waiting." Sherlock said impatiently. John looked at him. Sherlock was nervous. His hand has shaking a little and he was rocking back and forth on his heals. John had never seen Sherlock act this way. Of course, these things were subtle and most people wouldn't even notice. But John could and it was very much out of character for Sherlock. John would have thought that seeing this small display of Sherlock's concern would have made him feel better. After all, he had waited so long to tell Sherlock about his problems because he felt Sherlock wouldn't be concerned. John had thought that seeing Sherlock's composure at his time of inner turmoil would crush him. But he knew now that he had gained strength from Sherlock's calm because now, seeing that Sherlock was worried, made John even more frightened. If Sherlock was worried, there really must be a reason. John's heart began racing, as could be obviously noticed on the heart monitor.

"It wasn't cancerous. You don't have cancer." John felt relief rush over him, like he'd never felt before. Weeks of worry left him replaced by an overwhelming sense of happiness and peace and he almost felt dizzy over it. Tears sprang to his eyes and he fought to keep them inside.

He stole a glance over at Sherlock and saw that Sherlock was grinning, ear to ear, like John had never seen before. Sherlock must not have been aware of what he was doing, because the second he noticed that John was looking at him he quickly replaced his huge smile with a smaller, more composed, grin. "That's quite a relief," he said looking around nervously trying to cover his sudden outburst of facial expression.

John was going to agree but he was so overwhelmed that he wasn't sure he could get the words out. "You do however have a pretty nasty infection, probably that you picked up during your time in the military. Its been growing and getting worse for a long time and your body just can't put up with it anymore. That's what's been causing your symptoms. We'll need to keep you for a few days to give you a round of medication but you'll be able to go home after that."

Home. John was going to get to go home and be well. He was going to get to keep on living. He couldn't help but smile at Sherlock and he could tell that Sherlock was having a hard time keeping his smile a small one.

* * *

"Hurry up John. If you're going to insist on doing this then I would prefer to get it over with sooner rather than later. Though it will do no good like I said." Sherlock said plopping down on the couch and rolling his eyes.

John shook his head as he headed for the couch to sit beside Sherlock. He was acting like this was all a terrible waste of his time. He was obviously choosing to forget that this was actually his idea. So, John played into it. "Well, if you really don't want to do it then that's fine."

"No, you want to do it, so I'll just put up with it but do hurry up."

John sighed. It was good to be home. He'd been in the hospital for longer than he or the doctors had expected. They had treated his infection but it had been much worse than they had expected and harder to get under control. He'd gotten sicker before he had gotten better.

It had been a terrible few days. He'd spent a great amount of time vomiting and rushing to the toilet. He had wondered many times if he would scare Sherlock away but he had stayed the entire time. Even now that they were home, Sherlock was there to take care of John. Well, he was _trying_ to anyways. He wasn't very good at taking care of John and he couldn't help but urge John constantly to get better faster. But he was _there_ and that's what John had really wanted all along anyway. John could tell that Sherlock was just itching to get out but he had stayed with John until John was well enough to go out too.

He had been the one to start asking questions about blood brothers. John had forgotten part of that conversation because Sherlock had asked him while he was in the throws of 'getting better' in the hospital and he was sure that he blacked out for part of that time. Sherlock had of course approached the subject like it was an experiment that needed to be conducted but John knew that it ran deeper than that.

Now that John was fully recovered he felt that it was finally safe for them to do it. Sherlock had a clean bill of health since they had allowed him to donate blood and John had just gotten the word that he was 100% well.

John took out his pocket knife which he had already cleaned and made a small cut on the palm of his hand. He reached over and did the same with Sherlock. Then he took Sherlock's hand in his own.

John hesitated before saying his part. The words had been true from the start but now Sherlock would know it. He spent so many weeks not telling Sherlock how he had felt because he was afraid that Sherlock wouldn't be there for him but he proved that he would.

John took a deep breath before he said the words that were on his heart. "I pledge myself to you in words and heart. To follow you anywhere and protect you at all costs. I give you my loyalty, trust and friendship." John hoped that Sherlock wouldn't think him too sentimental for saying all that but it was exactly the way he felt. And if this whole scare had taught him anything at all it was that life might be too short to waste it being afraid.

Sherlock was taken back by John's words. He'd already been feeling nervous about what he would say and John's words were so perfect they made him more nervous. He knew he would not be able to articulate his feelings as well as he wanted to. "I pledge to you a lifetime of loyalty and protection. To value you. To stand by your side always…"

Sherlock's words caught in his throat and threatened to strangle him. "I do wish I was better at words."

John just smiled back at him and said "It's enough." Then giving Sherlock's hand a final shake said "Brothers."

Sherlock returned the smile. "Brothers."

John saw it for a just a moment but it was enough. He saw the heart of Sherlock Holmes and in it he found himself. It was good to know. It had always been true but without the events of the past several weeks he wondered if he would have ever known.

But it was Sherlock so the glimpse was the briefest possible. In the next instance he was up off the couch and putting on his coat. "Now that we are done with all of this sentiment we need to get back to work. Your illness has put us very behind."

John smiled, getting up and reaching for his coat as well. "Sorry, I'll try to not be as inconsiderate the next time."

"See that you do," Sherlock said smiling back at him and dashing out the door.

And John followed him to the crime and trouble and danger where they both loved to be. By Sherlock's side like he would until the end of time. And, he knew now, with Sherlock by his side too no matter what.

**I hoped you enjoyed "Blood Brothers." Thank you for reading and for all of the lovely reviews-they mean so much to me! Be sure and check out my newest story "You're Not Here." **


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